Everyone's Favorite Potions Master
by paranoia.pink
Summary: Snape introspects. The snark - it burns!


**Title: **Everyone's Favorite Potions Master

**Author: **pinkparanoia

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, I promise.

"Severus, I would like to talk to you in my office later after classes today." Dumbledore's eyes twinkle at me abominably, so I can only guess that he wants to talk to me about his favorite topic, Potter. I nod and continue to eat, cutting my pie into tiny bites and chewing carefully.

Curse that boy for taking over my entire year. It is bad enough that he is a blight upon my time with the Slytherin second years; that I have to endure hearing about him every day is beyond tolerance. I am only moderately successful at keeping these thoughts from showing, judging by Albus' sideways glance.

Grudgingly, I take another bite of my meat pie, ignoring the tittering discussions around me.

The Great Hall is in an uproar about recent events, and even I feel alarm and dismay. I trust my facade of composure is intact, but underneath I do feel a certain fear. These mysterious attacks are a trial to us all. Though no one has died yet, every incident increases the chances that some lout will do something stupid. Probably some hotheaded Gryffindor.

Much as I dislike the Granger girl, there is no doubt that there are few are more competent than her. Her petrification was not overly surprising, given her pesky meddling and poking about, but that she was carrying a mirror... the girl certainly does not have fashion sense or enough courtesy for others to take care of her appearance. She's possibly the only Gryffindor with the capacity for planning; what was she planning for?

It matters not, as long as my House is safe. Dumbledore and McGonagall will take care of everyone else, and I can handle my own. I do not truly believe, whatever is going on, that this is a Slytherin plot. Or at least, not by one of the students. I am ashamed to admit, even to myself, that the quality of Slytherin plotting has gone down within the past five years or so. It has turned rather puerile, in fact. A single glance at the Slytherin table confirms it: the seventh years are all intoxicated, if appearances are any judge; the single competent first year is wasting his time spelling all the robes of some Ravenclaws silver and green; and Draco is casting his usual melodramatic glares at Potter, failing to back his malice up with action. Even the Slytherins make me feel ill these days. To be surrounded by such dunderheads!

As for Potter, I cannot help checking: he is quiet and withdrawn, not doubt worried about his little friend. It is no surprise that the current crisis only disturbing to Potter when it affects him personally. I watch him, fixing a sneer on my face. Potter manages to combine raw talent and power with an abysmal lack of dedication, intelligence, and common sense. If I had as much potential as he when I was a child, I would now be Prime Minister, though I am happier leaving that job to the current incompetent fop.

I find myself preoccupied all throughout class, wondering what the Headmaster wanted to talk to me about. Something unpleasant no doubt, probably involving Potter. I don't care if he is supposedly the savior of our side, I simply don't want to hear about him anymore. When a cauldron falls with a satisfying smash, I thankfully take out my frustrations on the humiliated Ravenclaw, and give him dirty looks until the period is over. By the time he leaves class, tears are quivering in his eyes and his chin is trembling. Children really don't get enough abuse in all their other classes, if they are so scarred by mine.

After my second class of the afternoon, an extraordinarily aggravating third year potions, I stride down the mostly empty halls, careful to do the brisk walk I have perfected that makes my robes billow out intimidatingly. When the lone child in the first floor corridor shrinks back in fear, my good mood returns. How easy they all are!

They would be extremely damaged by Voldemort, I think. If he should come to full power, or conquer Hogwarts, I would be the least of their fears. What a frightening thought. I would much rather be Albus' henchman than teach in such a Hogwarts.

I give Albus' abominably silly password to his gargoyle, and walk up the stairs to his office. There are voices on the other side, probably the other staff. No doubt he has some ultimately silly task to give me, which I shall take because the alternatives to supporting him are so much worse.

Just before my knock, I hear him call "Enter." Inside his well-lit office I see Albus and Trelawney sitting around a tiny table drinking tea. She looks as batty as ever, and Dumbledore once again has the dreaded Potter twinkle. I sit down, as far from Trewlaney as possible. "Ah Severus," he says with a smile. "I have a job for you."

I knew it.


End file.
